


Vespertine

by itsevanffs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Angst, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Child Neglect, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Memory Loss, Parseltongue, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Questionable Age Gap, Sane Tom Riddle, Slow Burn, Slytherin Harry Potter, Time Travel, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-07-20 11:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19991314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsevanffs/pseuds/itsevanffs
Summary: Harry only blooms at night; Tom can see this much.(On hold)





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE TAGS. I don't want stupid idiots getting triggered because they went in without reading them and then whining to me. The Dead Dove: Do Not Eat is there for a bloody reason.
> 
> Blood warning for the immediate scene after this.

Harry Potter awoke with a pained groan. He pressed his palm to his forehead, crumpling the odd frames of glasses that were falling apart. He spluttered, pulled them off, and discarded them to the side before rubbing his eyes, wincing as a piece of glass caught his brow.

"Merlin," he moaned. "Where am I?"

He glanced around, eyes still squinted although his glasses were no longer needed (he was very glad he'd taken that eye recovery potion after… he didn't remember.) Harry felt like a part of his brain was clouding over, or dissolving. His vision was blotched white. He lifted a finger to his brow.

It pulled away, stained red as a blooming pain exploded in his forehead.

"Fuck!" Harry cried, clutching his head. He rolled over and writhed a bit on the ground, before the pain cleared and he stilled.

Harry lay panting on the floor, his chest heaving pathetically. That felt worse than a cruciatus. Wait, what was a cruciatus? Harry scowled at himself for being freakish(from what he could remember, being freakish was bad, and being bad had nasty consequences) and pushed himself upright.

Harry looked around. It was dark, but slivers of lights fell through cracks in what appeared to be wood. Harry found a door shape and pushed against it, staggering upright.

He sprawled against the ground as the door fell open. Voices became louder, then quieted as eyes turned his way. Harry coughed pathetically, trying to force himself up with shaking arms. Was he always this weak? Did everything always look this big?

Harry saw a shadow fall near his head and looked up, eyes big and scared.

"Merlin, kid, are you alright? You took quite a fall there." A boy, younger than him -wait, younger? what age was Harry?- but intimidatingly tall, leaned over and stuck his hand out before pulling Harry up with uncanny ease.

"Who-who are you? Where am I?" Harry stuttered, feeling small and vulnerable. Tears sprung to his eyes as his brow throbbed and something red dripped past his left eye.

"By the Gods… what happened? You look awful!" the boy exclaimed, grabbing his arm. "What's your name? Did you hit your head?"

Harry watched him, baffled, and then burst into sobs.

The boy cursed and mumbled something under his breath. Harry's skin tingled and the red disappeared. He shivered and stifled a sob.

"Okay… calm down, calm down. My… My name is Olivier Desmund. I- you're on platform Nine and Three-quarters. How… how old are you? What's your name?"

Harry sniffled. "Harry," he choked out.

"Harry," Desmund said, sounding relieved. "Will you, uh, come with me? I… the train's about to leave, I can bring you to a nurse. He's… he's very good, he'll fix you up in no time."

Harry sniffed and nodded tearfully, raising his hand to rub at his eyes. The red -was it blood?- was back again, and Harry sucked on his fingers to rid of it. It wouldn't do to get it on his shirt.

"H-hey, don't do that, that's unsanitary-!" Desmund cried, waving his hands around awkwardly. He grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him away from where they were standing, and towards a large steaming train. Harry thought it looked familiar.

Desmund pulled him into a carriage with one other person in it, who he quickly started talking to after he carefully pushed Harry down on the bench. Harry fell asleep before he could hear a word of their conversation.

He was awoken by a hand carefully shaking him. Harry sighed and opened his eyes, turning his head towards the voice.

"Hey, Harry, we're here," Desmund said. "Come, I'll get you into the castle and we can get to the Healer."

There was a swirl of familiar corridors and then a large, white room.

"Prefect Desmund!" a male voice said. "What happened here? Did a first year fall into the lake again?"

"No, Sir, I found him in the station like this… I used a mild cleaning charm to stop the wound on his eyebrow from getting infected…" Desmund said, and Harry swayed on his feet, the voices appearing quieter and quieter.

Harry was led to a bed and given something that tasted cold to swallow. Harry made a muffled complaint but downed the liquid, giving a startled grunt when his head cleared and his vision stopped blurring.

"Yes, I thought so," a man, rather young, said thoughtfully. "Seems he's hit his head. I'll have to keep him here. I'll see what the headmaster says of this. It was quite risky, taking a stranger here. It could have been a muggle!" He scolded Desmund.

"Sorry, Sir. I couldn't think of another option. I don't know any healers personally, and since he was on the platform, I just assumed…"

"Well, you were lucky. Go off now, the feast's sure to have started by now."

"Will he be alright?" Desmund said, taking a few steps towards the doors. Harry looked around. He appeared to be in an infirmary- a large one, at that.

"I'll make sure of it, Mr Desmund. Now shoo- the first years won't get to the Hufflepuff dorms by themselves."

Desmund nodded and made his way out. The man turned to Harry and smiled.

"Hello there, chap. My name's Healer Kyren, I'm the school nurse here. What's your name?"

"Harry," Harry said again looking at the oddly familiar environment.

"Do you have a last name, Harry?" Healer Kyren asked, keeping his smile firmly on his face.

"I don't know. I don't remember."

"Okay," Healer Kyren began, inhaling slowly, "where are you from?"

Harry blinked, and thought long and hard. "I'm not sure."

Healer Kyren pulled a slight face and Harry blinked. He felt irritable, like he was feeling too many things at once.

"Do you know what year it is, Harry?"

Harry blinked. It seemed like a stupid question- how would he not know? and yet… Harry felt panicked as he realised that, no, he didn't know.

Healer Kyren must have seen the look on his face and quickly worked to calm him down. "It's alright, Harry. It's September 1st, 1941. Can you repeat that for me?"

Harry nodded slowly. "September first, nineteen forty-one." He felt there was something wrong about the date, but the feeling faded momentarily.

"Very good. Is it alright if I perform a diagnostic on you, Harry? It'll just be a moment, and all you'll have to do is sit still for a bit."

Harry nodded, and followed the instructions. Healer Kyren waved an odd piece of wood and mumbled something. Harry frowned.

"What's that?" he asked, still sitting as still as he could manage. He was beginning to feel drowsy again.

"That's a wand, Harry," Healer Kyren said. "You can relax now," he added, snatching a piece of paper out of the air with one hand and waving the other one dismissively. Harry did as he was told.

Healer Kyren frowned more and more as he read down the list of things. "I see," he said finally as he put the list away and it disappeared into a puff of glitter. "Well, Harry, it appears you're going to have to drink some more potions."

Harry blinked at him owlishly, then pulled a face. "Will they be nasty?"

"Well, that really depends on what you mean by 'nasty'," Healer Kyren said, walking over to a cabinet full of bottles filled with oddly coloured drinks. He pulled out two mud-coloured ones and one light pink one, and a small pot of light green cream. When he caught Harry looking at them with apprehension, he smiled and explained. "These two brown ones are nutrient potions- they'll help you grow better and make up for all the nutrients you're missing. You haven't eaten a proper meal in a long time, my boy. The pink one is a very light blood replenisher, but it also acts as an aid with concussions, since you seem to have hit your head rather hard. The green paste is for your eyebrow."

Harry nodded and accepted the two brown potions when they were given to him. He downed them with a grimace and then reluctantly drank the pink one, feeling relieved when it tasted like nothing in particular rather than metallic mud. He closed his eyes as Healer Kyren applied the salve to his eyebrow.

"You have gorgeous eyes, Harry," Healer Kyren said with a smile, "did you know that? They're a beautiful, vivid green colour. It's very nice."

Harry flushed and looked away. Healer Kyren just smiled more and turned away to attend to other business. Harry sighed and laid back against the soft pillows of the bed. His back ached- he didn't remember the last time he laid in a proper bed, not a makeshift mattress or flimsy futon. Then again, he didn't remember much of anything.

Harry was kept in the infirmary for the entire night before the headmaster showed up.

"No, there were no students missing from the ceremony. You said his records show he's eleven, right?" the headmaster, Mr Dippet, asked.

"Yes, and his magical core is intact: no issues there. It's a bit strained from lingering magical exhaustion, but it's not serious."

"How come he's not on the Ministry's records? Usually they notify the school of potential muggleborns attending. Is he even..?" Dippet asked.

"With all due respect, Sir, the diagnostic spell only gives a diagnosis, not a summary of a person's bloodline. But no, his core isn't untrained, so it's unlikely he's muggleborn. Although there are signs of physical abuse and neglect- any respectable wizard knows what happens when you hit a magical child. He's a very peculiar case." Healer Kyren smiled at Harry.

Headmaster Dippet turned to face Harry as well. "What's your name, my boy?"

"Harry," said Harry. "I'm not sure what my surname is."

"My theory is that he's gone through some head trauma," Healer Kyren began, glancing at Dippet, "and that it gave him amnesia. He doesn't appear to recognise much at all, in fact- despite likely being raised by magical parents. He did come in with a concussion and in mild shock."

"Hmm," Dippet hummed. "I suppose, but… what will we do with him? He doesn't remember where he came from, and heritage tests are expensive…"

"Well, isn't it obvious? He'll have to stay here. There's nothing else we can do- there's no way we could send him to a muggle orphanage. Besides, he's just the age of a first year- he needs an education, Armando."

Dippet dragged a hand over his face after Healer Kyren was done ranting. "Very well. Give the boy a suitable last name- something obscure but clearly magical. Get him Sorted- we'll say he's a transfer on a scholarship. Hopefully he does well in... _something,_ so we can justify it."

Healer Kyren raised a brow and looked at Dippet, unimpressed. Harry could understand why- he didn't like himself being talked about like an object or a show dog, either.

Dippet cast Harry a non-committal glance before he left the Infirmary.

"Well, Harry. Let's think of a decent last name for you, shall we?" Healer Kyren looked back towards Harry and smiled kindly. Harry nodded.

"Hmm... Owen? Owens? How's that sound?"

Harry nodded absentmindedly because he wasn't sure- he knew that it wasn't _his_ name, but he didn't know what _was_ , so he just went along with it. "Sounds good."

Healer Kyren clapped excitedly. "Wonderful! Well, let's now quickly create some documents. You're a first year, so you'd be born in... either 1929 or 1930. Let's make that 1930, it's more logical. Let's see...When do you want your birthday to be? It can only be from January to August."

"Uhh," Harry said unhelpfully, "July? The... thirty-first of July? I think that's my real birthday, it feels familiar."

Healer Kyren grinned happily at Harry. "Well, it's good that you feel you remember something. July 31st, 1930 it is. There we go..." He scribbled some words down on thick paper with a feather and ink before standing up straight again.

"And done! I'll go make a few copies of this and make a medical form -I did a diagnostic so I have a good gist of what's going on- and a school acceptance letter. You should go up to the Headmaster's office, he'll get you Sorted," Healer Kyren snickered a little, making Harry confused, "and someone'll accompany you to get your stuff- your wand, that is. You'll probably get second-hand school books because you don't have any known funds."

Healer Kyren smiled and muttered some strange words. A beam of light connected itself to Harry's chest and the other end trailed out of the open infirmary door.

"Follow that light- it'll bring you to the headmaster's office. The password is;" he mumbled a string of weird words which Harry took to memorizing instantly. "Yes, that. Now, off you go!" the healer said with a smile.

Harry followed the string of light and reproduced the sound of the words the best he could, relieved when the doorway opened. He stepped on the staircase and almost fell over when it began to move upwards, carrying him along with it.

He stumbled out of the top doorway at the end of the moving stairs. The light from his chest disappeared.

"Oh, hello there my boy. Are you alright?" Dippet said, turning around and looking at Harry.

Harry nodded shakily and stood in the doorway until he was invited to sit down. Once he was settled, the headmaster addressed him once again.

"So, what's the name Healer Kyren gave you? I hope all the documents are done."

Harry nodded. "Harry Owens, sir."

Dippet nodded. "Well then, Mr Owens. It appears that you do not have any school equipment yet- most of this can be fixed, we have spare robes and telescopes and all of that, but potions ingredients and a wand will be trickier. Before all that, though, let's get you Sorted."

"Sorted?" Harry asked.

"Yes- you'll need to know which House you're in, after all. It'll just take a minute." Dippet stood up and went to an old bookcase, and waved his wand to retrieve an old, barren hat from the top shelf. Harry tilted his head slightly, curious as to where this was going.

"Hello Armando," it croaked in an old voice. "Do I need to sing the song? My throat is rather sore you know." Harry's eyes widened. A talking hat!

"No need, dear friend- your performance yesterday was wonderful. We just have an unexpected new addition, who needs to be Sorted," explained Dippet.

"A transfer student?"

"You could say that. Here, Owens, just put this on." Dippet lowered the large hat over Harry's head until it obscured his eyes with how large it was.

'Hello there, Mr Owens. Why, it's very empty in here,' the hat said in his ear.

Harry said nothing, just remembered being told he had amnesia.

'yes, that explains it. Well, there are lingering traces of loyalty, but they're too frayed to make you a good 'Puff. I wonder what happened?'

Harry sat still. Could it read his thoughts?

'Yes, Mr Owens, indeed I can. Why, you're not one for smarts, are you... You don't look like a Raven, nor does your head sound like one. A Lion... maybe, maybe, but there's a very strong trace of ambition. I wonder what for... Hopefully in SLYTHERIN, you'll find out."

Harry realised that the had had said the word Slytherin out loud when it reached his ears properly.

"Very good," Dippet said, clapping softly before he removed the hat. "Now, usually we introduce transfers at the start of the year, but you're clearly a bit of a special case. I'll call someone in to accompany you to Diagon Alley. Just one moment, I think Horace is free today."

The headmaster made a weird symbol with his wand and a silver light shot off through the window and circled around the tower when Harry watched it with wide eyes.

Several minutes later, a rather large man came stumbling in through the doorway, his face tinged red with effort.

"Armando, old friend, please don't ever make me walk all the way here from the Dungeons again," he wheezed, bending over and putting his hands on his knees.

"I'll keep it in mind," Dippet said dismissively as the man looked up and saw Harry. Harry fought the urge to shrink back for he had no logical reason to do so.

"Well, I'll be damned! I didn't see this boy at the Feast yesterday. Where's he appeared out of?"

"There was a... complication. He had to stay in the infirmary overnight. Quite a nasty scar he's got from the ordeal, too" Dippet commented offhandedly. Harry's hand shot to his brow, and felt the still sensitive and blemished skin of his new scar where it tore through his eyebrow crudely.

"Horace, this is Harry Owens. Owens, this is Horace Slughorn, but you may call him Professor Slughorn."

Harry nodded mutely as Slughorn grinned.

"Now, Horace, due to his _complication_ and his upbringing -which is _private_ information- Mr Owens here has not yet received his wand or his equipment. I would appreciate it very much if you could accompany him, today if you wish."

Professor Slughorn looked uninterested but agreed anyways. "Will we be taking the floo?"

"Of course, Horace. Go first, if you will- then you can await Mr Owens on the other side."

Slughorn nodded and grabbed some ashy-looking powder from a pot above the fireplace, threw it in -the flames turned _green_ \- and stepped inside, before bellowing "The Leaky Cauldron!" and disappearing.

"Now, Mr Owens, if you could please repeat what Horace just did, that would be wonderful." Dippet smiled at him in such a way it made Harry want to scratch his skin off.

He didn't do that- instead, he did as told and threw the powder into the fire, and stepped in the flames -they weren't warm, maybe the temperature of tea left too long- and repeated what Slughorn had said. In a flash, the Headmaster's office disappeared and then he was stumbling out of a fireplace in a worn-down pub. Slughorn was standing off the side, arguing with the bartender, who looked stoic as he told him that _no, you can't have a drink, you're teaching children tomorrow for Merlin's sake_.

Harry carefully approached them. Slughorn scoffed and turned away from the bartender and towards Harry.

"Well then, what're you waiting for? Let's go," he said impatiently, clearly upset that he hadn't got a drink. Harry followed him out the back and blinked stupidly when the professor began counting out bricks on a stone wall with his wand. Harry started as one of the bricks moved backwards and the wall proceeded to move apart.

"Merlin, I haven't been here since 1932," Slughorn grumbled. "Go on, then." He pushed Harry through the opening in the brick wall, which closed itself as if through magic after they were through.

"Let's see... first things first. Robes. Ah, it'll be the longest, so maybe I'll go ahead and buy us some food while you're there." Slughorn led Harry to a shop where a woman greeted them and immediately dragged Harry over to a podium and told him to stay still.

"My, this is a bit late, isn't it? Hasn't Hogwarts already started?" She asked Harry, as Slughorn had already left. He just nodded mutely while she prattled on pleasantly, measuring and pinning up his sleeves. "It'll be a bit large, but that's because you'll start growing soon. As much as I could use the funds, it's no good to get you back here in three months or so," she explained.

Harry left the shop with a bundle of clothes(work clothes, some gloves, a hat and a winter cloak) after Slughorn came back and paid with some cream stuck in his moustache.

"What's next?" asked Slughorn to noone in particular. "Oh, yes. The books. No, wait, let's get a decent trunk first, to make all that carrying bearable."

So they went to the trunk shop, where Slughorn was forced to buy one of the more fancy trunks since all the cheap ones had been sold out just before school started. The man who sold it to them had beady, glimmering eyes as he rattled off the enchantments on the trunk- most of which Harry had never heard of before, some of which he couldn't even understand what their purpose was.

Then it was time to buy the books. The shopkeeper apologized when he told them most of what he had left was second-hand, and that he'd give a discount for them. Slughorn looked like he couldn't decide wether he felt pleased or annoyed that it was cheaper and less valuable.

They got his cauldron and Slughorn shrunk it for him after taking one look at Harry lugging the thing around. Harry stuck the shrunken cauldron in his pocket, grateful. They got a set of crystal phials -Slughorn insisted crystal was better since glass sometimes had adverse reactions to potions- and a portable telescope, as well as a set of brass scales.

Slughorn told him to forgo the owl, since he could use the ones from school.

Then it was time for his wand. Harry felt a sort of longing in his chest which he pushed down as they entered the shop. The smell of worked wood was strong, and Harry sighed contentedly.

"Well hello there. Looking for a wand, I suppose?" A tall, wiry man said from behind a tall counter. Harry looked at him, curious. The man stared straight back. "Say, that's quite a nasty scar you have. How'd that happen?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally and looked at Slughorn, who was ogling some things on display.

"Horace, those are wand cores, _not_ potions ingredients. It would do well for you to remember that. When was the last time I saw you? When you were a little boy still, I think, coming to get your first wand. Cedar with a dragon heartstring core, 10 and a quarter inches, fairly flexible was it not?"

"Yes," Slughorn grunted. "Come on, old man, let's get this over with."

The man's eyes crinkled in amusement and he turned to pull down some boxes.

Harry's eyes wandered through the shop as the man muttered to himself, landing on a chained cage. He instinctively moved closer as if something was pulling him. He reached out, and-

-Was snatched back by the man's thin hand "Careful, now, mister. That wand's very new, only a week or two old, but it's been incredibly restless, moving on its own. It's rather dangerous for one such as yourself."

Harry took a reluctant step back as the man started pulling down a few more boxes before he opened one and presented it to Harry.

"Just pick it up, give it a wave, see if it likes you."

Harry had barely touched the wand when the chained box flew open and something flew at his face. His hand snapped up to catch the thing, curling around a wand made of smooth wood that had very little bumps or blemishes.

Something wonderful, wild coursed through his body and he closed his eyes as sparks erupted violently from the tip of his wand and a fierce wind ripped at the few papers lying around the store.

"Well, Merlin's beard," the man whispered. Slughorn cursed and struggled a little with something as Harry opened his eyes. "I never would have thought. But it's a very nice wand, boy. Say... care to tell me your name?"

"Harry Owens," said Harry, clenching his wand.

The man hummed, watching Harry scrutinisingly before he turned. "Tell you what, Mr Owens, since your wand is such a troublemaker, I'll cut the price down to four galleons and eleven knuts."

Slughorn rushed to pay the thing after that statement, presumably before the man could change his mind.

"How curious," the man muttered to himself as Slughorn paid. "Those kind of magic bursts you'd only really see in adults with a decently sized core. If he's got such a core now, I wonder what it'll look like when he's older..."

Slughorn didn't grumble at him once as they made their way back to Hogwarts.


	2. 2

Harry was introduced at the evening feast that day once they returned to Hogwarts. They made him walk down the aisle towards the head table where Professor Dumbledore, the deputy headmaster, introduced him, his House and gave a quick summary of his situation. He was then urged towards the Slytherin table, where he sat at the end, near the other children who looked like first years, although they were all taller than him, even the girls, when he sat down.

Harry felt somewhat uncomfortable, squirming as he felt eyes boring into the side of his head, but he didn't dare look up, keenly aware of the clear hierarchy displayed in the seating arrangements. His ears strained for the slightest noise that sounded among the hall as the headmaster gave a small speech before he clapped his hands curtly. Promptly, food appeared on the table. Harry fought not to jump in his seat, aware of how none of the others seemed to be startled by the food's appearance.

Harry vowed, in that moment, to blend in and be invisible. The hat had said he was ambitious- if he kept out of trouble, it would be easier to find out why he had such strong ambitions, and consequently to achieve the goals set by them.

He ate quietly, then followed the year group to the dungeons, where his room would be. The house elves, Dippet had said, had arranged a room for him- there was no more space in any of the first year rooms, so they'd had to clean up one of the old, smaller ones.

"Owens," a voice called calmly. Harry's head snapped up. It was one of the prefects- the one with the long hair. "Your room is through there." He pointed at a small, modest-looking door at the end of the boys' corridor. It was hooded by shadows, the nearest torch only next to the door closest to his, and Harry was grateful for the twisted sense of privacy it gave.

He went over to his room and found that his trunk was sitting on the end of his bed. The room was stuffy, but clean, and there were no lingering traces of dust anywhere. Harry sent a silent thanks to the house elves- clearly they had outdone themselves. He absentmindedly wondered what they even looked like.

His rest was peaceful, and he was awoken early the next morning by an alarm going off in a room a bit away. Harry rubbed his eyes, and his hand reached for something on his nightstand before he could think better of it. There was nothing there, so Harry just sat there, confused for a few minutes, before he gave up trying to remember why he did that and instead went to clean himself up in the bathroom.

He pulled on a clean set of robes once he'd taken a quick shower -he'd felt jittery the entire time, as though he was on a time limit or something- and made his way into the common room. A few first-years were conversing near the fireplace. One spotted him and called him over.

"Hey. Owens, right?"

Harry nodded. The boy stuck out a hand, a controlled but easy smile on his face.

"I'm Richard Cyneley," said Cyneley, and they shook hands.

"Harry Owens," replied Harry, just to be polite since the boy already seemed to know his last name.

The boy looked contemplative for a moment. "Owens isn't a common magic name, is it? Nor is it well-known."

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't know, really- I don't remember a thing about my childhood, let alone who my parents are, so I might as well be called Smith, or Potter."

One of the girls sitting next to Cyneley made a quiet laughing sound.

"Well, I sure hope you're not a Potter," said Cyneley.

Harry raised a brow, curious as he sat down across from Cyneley and his two companions. "Oh? Why not?"

"They're as Light as Light can be, said the girl who laughed earlier from Cyneley's left.

"They wouldn't be caught dead with a Snake in the family," said the other girl from Cyneley's right.

Harry tilted his head slightly. "I see."

They all turned their heads as someone behind then softly cleared their throat to get the group's attention.

It was the long-haired prefect from before. He smiled calmly at them.

"Hello. Do you need any help getting down to breakfast?" He asked. Harry glanced back at Cyneley, who shook his head with the same calm smile.

"No, we'll be alright. I memorized the way, and Owens will come with us, won't you?"

Harry nodded quietly.

"Alright," said the prefect, "Call me if you need me." He turned and walked away. Harry looked over to Cyneley again, who had a light scowl on his face.

"Do you not like him?" Harry asked curiously.

Cyneley glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Harry felt stupid.

"Oh my," the girl on Cyneley's left giggled. "It seems you're not very well-versed in etiquette and adress, are you?"

"Ah, we'll have to correct that," the girl on his right said importantly. "You'll have to sit with us at breakfast- we need to get started right away."

"Merlin, this'll be fun," Cyneley added cynically, and stood up. "Let's go, shall we?"

They made their way downstairs, and sat together at the Slytherin table. Immediately, the girls began quietly instructing him on how to properly use the array of cutlery in front of him -"Unless you plan on getting a _fruit salad_ , don't _touch_ that fork"- and how to hold it -"You can't just _stab_ your food"- and what foods were appropriate. Harry wondered strongly what the treacle tarts tasted like, but he stopped trying to reach for them after his hand was quickly slapped away several times.

"You're not touching that until we've taught you how to properly eat it."

Harry fought the urge to grumble and instead settled for a level glare down at his plate.

"Well, at least he's learning quickly," said the girl on Cyneley's left, earning a nod from the girl on his right. Although they weren't seated like it anymore, but Harry didn't know their names.

It went on like this until they had their first class on Monday. It was Charms, mostly uneventful- professor Merrythought was nice, and she commended him with points when he got the levitation charm in one go. She looked contemplative towards the end of the lesson, but didn't say anything so Harry didn't worry about it.

The rest of the day's lessons were ordinary- nothing much happened. For some reason, Harry excelled at any magic he was told to do(it was still weird, doing _magic_ ) and was undeniably average in anything that didn't require reflexes, spells or charms.

The next few days passed quietly. Hrry kept getting tutored on etiquette by the girl who sat at Cyneley's left, while the girl who sat on his right made comments but after a while stopped being interested at all in Harry.

Potions made Harry squirm uncomfortably when he saw it was next on his timetable that Wednesday. He forced the feeling down and resolved to trying the best he could in the subject. He was surprised to find out that his Head of House, professor Slughorn, was teaching potions, although afterwards he thought it should have been obvious, with all that potions was mentioned when he was around.

Slughorn kept looking at Harry with this oddly interested look, and when the class was done -Harry relaxed for some unknow reason when nothing spectacular happened during the lesson- no-one stared at him or whispered about him, although he wasn't sure why they would- Slughorn requested Harry stay back for a minute before lunch.

"Owens, I've heard of your magical prowess in classes- it's quite unheard of, these days," Slughorn began with an oddly expectant smile. Harry returned the smile, confused. "I have a little, er, _club_ of mine, that you might be interested in joining. It's quite a modest club- quite exclusive, but it's a good place for opportunities." Slughorn beamed at him. "Would you be interested in joining? I'd be honored to have you, with your magical affinity and all."

Harry blinked owlishly. A club... he didn't think he'd ever been in one before. He was interested by the idea, and the words 'modest' and 'opportunities' interested him. Perhaps it would assist him in completing his currently unknown goal.

"Sure," he said slowly, before he plastered a charming smile on his face(as charming as it would get with him) and repeated himself more surely. "Sure, I'd love to join."

"Wonderful!" said Slughorn, clapping his hands twice. "That's done, then. There are a few Slytherins in the club, of course, so I'll just tell one of then to seek you out when a meeting comes up. If I don't manage to inform you first, that is. Now, off you go!" Slughorn made a shooing motion. "Don't miss your lunch."

Harry obediently exited the classroom and quickly made his way to the Great Hall where he sat down with the first years. Cyneley and the girls were sitting together today, and there was no space for Harry near them. Which was alright- Harry didn't mind being alone- they weren't friends, necessarily, anyways. Harry picked at his food absentmindedly, making sure to still follow the rules that had been drilled into him by the girl on the left.

Friday came and went. The weekend was quiet, and Harry spent it doing his homework, visiting the library to make sure he remembered the information correctly. He always returned to his room before curfew.

A few weeks passed without much ado. Harry began sitting independentky from Cyneley once more, and became engrossed with his schoolwork. Flying lessons were uneventful, although Harry found he enjoyed them and had a natural talent -which the teacher complimented him on greatly, making him flush, self-conscious.

One Friday, at the end of potions -the last lesson of the day- Slughorn held Harry back once again.

"I see you're struggling a bit with Potions," began Slughorn casually, an easy expression on his rather plump face, "and I was thinking of maybe getting one of the older students from the Slug Club to tutor you. We have a meeting today, shortly after dinner, in my office- it'd be a wonderful way to introduce you to the club as a new member, and I could ask someone to spend a day a week with you going over the potions we make in class. Does that sound alright, Owens?"

Harry thought for a second, then nodded- it wouldn't hurt to improve his grades a little.

"Wonderful! My office is in the corridor between this potions classroom and the Slytherin common room. It has a sign, so I'm sure you'll find it. Just come straight after dinner, the door will be open."

Harry nodded.

"Very well. Off you trot, then, and I'll see you in an hour or so." Slughorn clapped Harry on the back, and Harry struggled not to flinch. He smiled shakily and made his way to dinner.

Harry ate quietly, noticing that he felt full with smaller portions than the other Slytherins. He wondered why that was. Maybe his parents starved him? They were probably insane with how he had been hurt, so he wouldn't put it past them.

Harry finished his dinner around the same time as everyone else, as taught, and stood up, making his way out of the Great Hall with a practiced efficiency he'd acquired over the last three weeks since he arrived at Hogwarts. It did help that he was small and unnoticeable.

He slowly made his way down to Slughorn's office, following the instructions he was given, and saw the sign and the door, which was open. He was one of the first there- only one other boy was there, who was looking at his notes and didn't look when Harry entered.

Slughorn made his way inside and greeted Harry with a jovial smile. The rest piled in rather quickly after that- everyone looked either high-achieving or rather well-off. Harry felt out of place with his shabby clothes and messy hair. His hand dove to his wand which stayed snug in his pocket, clutching it- a nervous habit. He wondered when he picked _that_ up.

"Sit down, m'boy," Slughorn said eagerly, gesturing to the seat across from the boy with the notes from earlier. Slughorn himself sat down at the head of the table, or what Harry presumed to be the head, since the table was circular. The others got seated rather quickly too- Harry noticed there was only one seat between him and Slughorn, which was occupied by a rather stern looking girl who, from her 'Head Girl' badge, appeared to be a seventh year. She payed no attention to Harry, but he didn't mind that much as she appeared not to be interested in anyone else, either.

"Glad to see we're all here," said Slughorn joyously. "You weren't able to make it due to Quidditch last meeting, were you, Orion?" He looked expectantly at a boy with black locks that fell to his shoulders elegantly. He boy shrugged non-commitally, not even bothering to meet Slughorn's eyes. His aristocratic features barely twitched with emotion.

Slughorn tried not to look offended at the lack of response. "Oh well, I'll just have to be more careful to plan our meetings so they don't interfere with Quidditch."

The boy looked annoyed for a moment before his face smoothed over once more and he gave another shrug, still looking intently away from Slughorn.

"Well then," began Slughorn, shifting slightly in his seat -Harry wondered absently how he even fit in the chair- and giving Harry a grin. "We have an unexpected new addition to our little club. This is Harry Owens, everyone; he's got quite the magic core and affinity, if you ask me. Although, you might have seen him when he was introduced," Slughorn added as an afterthought. "Harry, this is Tom Riddle," he nodded at the boy with the notes, who glanced up towards Slughorn, looking almost annoyed, until his eyes shifted to meet Harry's.

Time seemed to freeze. Harry felt trapped by the intense yet uninterested gaze in those onyx eyes. It got worse when Riddle's gaze tripled in intensity, his eyes quickly clearing of boredom. A trace of curiosity crossed Riddle's face, as faint as it was ensnaring. Harry managed to tear his eyes away after what seemed like an eternity, just in time to catch Slughorn introducing the last two on the table.

"...And these two dears here are Lucretia and Orion Black. They're siblings, quite lovely once you get to know them. Orion's very skilled at Quidditch, aren't you?" Slughorn said as if he was proud father. Harry watched him, unimpressed with his attempts to sidle up to the siblings. He tuned the potions professor out for the rest of the session, instead observing his surroundings and the people around the table. He didn't dare look at Riddle again, for fear of getting trapped in his gaze once more. It made him feel vulnerable- and Harry had, by now, already decided he didn't like feeling vulnerable.

Towards the end, when Slughorn was done giving out rather impressively wrapped sweets -Harry thought they looked expensive- the large-bellied man turned to him once more.

"Harry, m'boy," (Harry surpressed a shudder- he despised it when people called him... _that_ ) "Although you have an incredible talent with magic, your potions work could be better- a lack of focus, I'd say, or a lack of precision, who knows. I was thinking of getting someone to help you catch up, since you're lagging a bit behind with your... _situation,_ and all." Slughorn tried to look understanding, but in the end he just looked slightly inconvenienced but also eager at the same time. Harry was reminded of the day in Diagon Alley.

"I'll do it," A smooth, velvety voice said coolly, and Harry's eyes shot to the speaker. He regretted it instantly.

"Ah, Tom! Yes, you're quite good at potions, aren't you? Top of the class- I'd say, maybe you're better than my seventh years yet. And rather gifted in magic too, yes, this should turn out very well. Then it's arranged- You two can stay behind a little after the end of our meeting, if you wish, to discuss when you'll be available."

Harry nodded mutely, trapped in Riddle's gaze once again. He'd barely caught most of Slughorn's words. He felt trapped, like an insect under the stare of a feline on the hunt. Harry felt the muscles in his shoulders protest after a while in their prolonged tense state. His whole mind was screaming... _something_.

And then it was just Slughorn, Harry, and Riddle. Slughorn excused himself into an adjacent room to grab a drink, ignorant of the tension between Harry and Riddle. They had both stood up at some point, and the table had shrunk along with the chairs, and the now doll-sized furniture had stowed itself in a corner to the left of Riddle.

Riddle looked relaxed, almost entertained. Harry felt on edge, refusing to relax his protesting muscles. His hand gripped his wand in his pocket. Had Riddle even blinked during their, what, _staring contest_? Harry couldn't remember. Then, Riddle looked away, and Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. A subtle smile curled Riddle's lips as his head turned away.

"So," Riddle began in that velvety voice of his, "the arrangements. I've got little time in my curriculum, due to my options, but since I'm a rather fast learner," his eyes glinted with humour, and Harry felt as if he was at the expense of a rather cruel joke, "I can ask one of my teachers to set an hour aside for me in lessons- once per week should be enough." Riddle gave Harry a quick once-over.

Harry nodded quickly. "Alright," he said hesitantly, "I have a free period before lunch on Monday, after breakfast on Wednesday, and after lunch on Thursday, or before dinner I suppose, it's the same thing really," Harry mumbled.

Riddle just smiled, a sly smirk rather, observing Harry stumble over himself.

"Thursday should be fine," he replied coolly, his handsome face betraying nothing apart from his sly smile, which still graced his lips. Harry nodded shakily and, mumbling a hurried goodbye, darted out the door, highly aware of onyx eyes boring in his back.

Harry stumbled into his small, private room and locked the hatch with trembling hands. He went into the adjacent bathroom and washed his hands, splashing water into his face to clear his mind. He started a little as he realised his glasses weren't there, but then remembered that he didn't need them at all. Maybe they were special glasses, with sentimental value or something like that. Harry shrugged at the nothing around him and didn't dwell on it.

Harry went to bed early, where he read until the lights went out. He whispered a few incantations under his breath, too, that he read in his charms book, although he didn't dare do the movements with his wand, which lay securely on his bedside table- he was well aware of the school rules and intended to follow them to the letter.

The next morning, Harry awoke once more, looking to the clock on his bedside table to find that he'd awoken just before breakfast started. This meant that, as it was a Saturday, he had the whole day to himself.

Harry discovered the wonder that was the library around noon, after a little wandering around the castle halls. He peeked inside, intimidated by the stern figure of the librarian, although not as stern-looking as Harry imagined librarians to be, and certainly younger. Harry shook his head at himself and stepped inside. There were no students beside himself in the library from what Harry could see, but he wasn't sure if this was the case as the room looked rather large, and his sight was partially obscured by cleverly placed bookcases.

He felt a sort of apprehension at first, which was eased the further he stepped into the room. The smell of dusty old leather and parchment and ink calmed his mind. Harry wandered over to a section, he didn't quite care which one, and plucked a book from its shelves, inspecting the cover. It was a rather harmless book, a recollection of myths, perhaps. Harry opened its pages to around the middle, then paged back to the start of said chapter.

"The Tale of the Three Brothers," Harry read aloud in a murmur, furrowing his brow. The edges of the pages were well-worn by loving use, perhaps more so than the pages of the other chapters. Harry sat down and began to read.

When he'd finished the short story -and it was undeed a rather short story, he'd barely spent an hour on it- Harry closed the book and glanced at the large clock on the wall above the entrance, sighing when he realised barely any time had passed.

Harry moved from the comfortable arm-chairs to the tables in the middle of the library, and pulled out a long sheet of parchment and a quill and inkpot. It was weird to write with a feather, but Harry found he wasn't unused to it. He was grateful at least, in all honesty, that he could write at all, and did not need to be taught. Clearly his parents weren't _that_ bad after all. Harry shook the thought away, and focused on his essay for Charms.

Harry worked patiently through the day, finishing his essays neatly and making sure to reach the recommended length. He'd found he was rather good at essays; perhaps he had some previous experience with them, not that he'd remembered it of course.

As the clocked ticked later into the afternoon, Ravenclaws began to inhabit the spaces around Harry too, clearly studious as the singing hat had mentioned, but the table Harry sat at remained empty apart from him. Harry tried not to feel disheartened, although he hadn't made any conscious effort to join a friend group so far. He'd consider it later, he thought. He was aleady a part of the Slug Club, so he felt that was enough for now.

On Monday, after breakfast, the girl from Cyneley's right caught up to him and gave him a book on etiquette with an unsettling smirk.

"There's only so much I can teach you at the table," she'd said. "Besides, it's good practice for your posture."

And then she was off, and Harry stood there for a while before shaking his head, confused, and making his way to his classes.

Harry spent his spare time reading into the etiquette book and doing his homework in the library. The first exercise in the book was posture, as the girl had mentioned, and Harry practiced in the privacy of his room. He wasn't good at walking with the book on his head by any means, but he was proud of himself when he reached a new record -he managed to get to three minutes of pacing around by the end of the week, although he was taking baby steps most of the time.

Harry also made conscious efforts to sit straight, keep his elbows off the table and hold his cutlery correctly. He hoped it'd grow into a second nature too.

Harry was approached by Riddle later that Wednesday. He told Harry where to meet him the following day after lunch. They would prepare one or two potions together in an unused potions classroom next to the one Slughorn taught in. Harry couldn't help but feel apprehensive at being alone with Riddle, although there was little he could do about it.

Harry's night was restless, although it usually was.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild blood/scar warnings towards the end of the chapter.

Harry awoke tense. His eyes shot open in the darkness of his room. Off in the distance, an alarm rang before it was quieted.

He exhaled a shaky breath from where it was trapped in his lungs, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He slipped out, quiet, paying little attention to the clock. He took absent notice of the time but it slipped his mind the moment his eyes did.

Harry took a quick shower, skittish about the idea of wasting water. A towel laid ready for him and he grabbed it, the large fabric smothering his small form. He'd noticed he was small even for his yearmates, although he didn't know why. He had a few educated guesses, but...

Harry shook his head to the sound of dripping water coming from the showerhead and pushed the thought away. It'd do no good to dwell on his past- it'd either come back to him, or it wouldn't. He'd decide when he got to that point.

Exiting his bedroom several minutes later, Harry made his way down to breakfast, his mind occupied with everything and nothing. He ate even less than usual, a fact which no one but himself took notice of, and made his way to his classes early when he was done, daring but a glance at the upper year Slytherins at the table. He relaxed minutely when he didn't spot Riddle at once, and refused to look back to see if he was there.

Harry hurried through the silent hallways of the castle, relishing in the echo of his footsteps against the stone walls of Hogwarts as he made his way to Charms. He'd made a conscious effort to be early to every lesson so he could ask any questions he needed, not that he had many for most classes except for History of Magic, which was interesting if you ignored the useless details Professor Binns tended to throw in, and Potions, which Harry just wasn't very good at. Nevertheless, he wanted to be a good student.

He waited in front of Charms until Professor Merrythought opened the door and greeted him with a smile. Harry returned it shyly. There was no one else outside, but the woman beckoned him inside anyways, disappearing into the classroom.

"Mr Owens," she began in her soft, silky voice as Harry sat down, "I've come to see that you have a remarkable skill in Charms and spellcasting, and have very little trouble grasping many of the spells first-time. For this reason," she smiled calmly at him from behind her desk, "I would like to ask you if you wish to start on more advanced Charms, as I'm sure you must be bored out of your mind doing simple _Lumos'_ and _Wingardium_ _Leviosa_ s."

Harry quickly made to deny being bored, but a look from her made him hold his tongue.

"I have a few spare higher year Charms books in my cupboard that I'd be very willing to lend to you so you can look through them and try them. Then, if you do indeed wish to pursue the higher levels, I'll make space for you to study those in lessons. If you wish not to, then nothing will change." She looked at him with a mild yet intelligent expression, and when Harry nodded, she smiled once more and turned her back to him, opening a locked cupboard with a wave of her wand and tracing lean fingers over the spines of well-loved books.

She plucked a few out expertly, and with another casual wave of her wand, floated them over and deposited them softly on Harry's desk, giving him a nod to encourage him when his hand reached for the book on top of the pile.

As such, Harry spent the lesson looking through books and waving his wand to their incantations carefully, sounding the words quietly. After mouthing and beckoning one such spell, he looked up, shocked, when a cluster of red sparks spat out from the tip of his wand and spiralled around the room for a little before they were banished by Professor Merrythought, who gave Harry an impressed smile.

"A fourth year spell! Well done, Mr Owens. Twenty points to Slytherin." Her eyes sparked momentarily before she turned back to the rest of the class, who were going through the motions of Incendio. Harry blinked before he composed himself and flushed, turning back to his book.

Charms was over, and then came History of Magic, and Harry listened obediently the whole lesson while others yawned and dozed. It was quite dull, almost enough to make Harry's mind slip away from the upcoming tutoring session with Riddle.

Another class, then lunch. Harry felt so nervous he couldn't stomach a bite, although he forced himself to eat a small bowl of fruit salad. He forced his eyes to stay on his food, and not to wander, lest they land on Riddle again. Harry shivered lowly and forced his attention back to the sweet citrus fruit in front of him.

And then lunch was over, and for the first time, Harry found himself hesitate until the more laid back Slytherins were getting up and leaving before doing so himself.

He made his way down the dungeons while taking deep, controlled breaths. He had no idea why he was so scared of Riddle. He had no reason to be- all he'd ever done to Harry was be courteous and respectful. Still, he couldn't shake the morbid fear that descended upon him as he did the stairs lower into the castle.

He reached the potions room he's taught in for normal lessons and saw the next door down the hallway was open. He walked up, and peeked in. Riddle was already there, bent over a book next to an empty cauldron, the strong but slender set of his shoulders accentuated by the way he was leaned over the desk. Harry thought he's not a person to mess with. It's an odd thought, practically useless, considering his irrational fear of the older boy.

Harry knocked politely on the wood of the door frame before stepping inside the empty classroom. Riddle straightened up and turned around to face Harry, who immediately forced his attention to wander around the classroom, looking anywhere but Riddle's face.

"Owens," Riddle said in greeting, nodding slightly in his peripheral. His voice was as smooth and baritone as it was when they last spoke, at the Slug Club. Harry nodded stiffly in return, not trusting his voice. "Shall we get started, then? A cure for boils, is it not?"

"Yes," Harry mumbled. "I did rather badly with that one." His hands had felt clumsy with the ingredients, and more than once he was scared he'd chop off a finger with the sharp knife.

Riddle said nothing in return, simply moved to the side and tilted his head at the space next to him. Harry moved closer obediently, fisting his robes to still his trembling hands. He pulled on the dragonhide gloves presented on the desk.

They started working in silence, Riddle giving him quiet instructions every once in a while. Harry began to crush the snake fangs, and Riddle took one look at how Harry was doing it and immediately held up a hand, silently commanding Harry to stop, which he did immediately.

Riddle moved behind Harry and reached for the mortar and pestle Harry was using. The latter made to move his hands away so Riddle could use the thing freely, but the older boy grabbed his hands and put them back.

"This is supposed to be a lesson, Owens, not an observation. I'm not here to do it for you- I'm here to help you prepare this thing  _ correctly _ ," Riddle said, his cool breath tickling the fine hairs along Harry's nape. "And the way you're holding those; no wonder your potion turned out wrong."

Harry didn't know whether to feel scared by his proximity or offended by his comment. Before he could make up his mind, Riddle continued.

"Instead of simply hitting the fangs with the pestle, instead grind downwards in a circular motion. This will crush them more effectively, as they are ground against themselves as well as the mortar." As he was speaking, he grabbed Harry's hands, his oddly warm ones dwarfing Harry's cold, shaking ones, and curled them around the mortar and pestle, keeping his own on top. Then Riddle acted out the motion he had just described, controlling Harry's hand under his own. He continued talking.

"The potion will be more effective if you crush the fangs like this, because the resulting finer powder has a larger surface area. As a result it reacts faster and more steadily than if the fangs were to be clumped and grainy."

Harry tried to focus on his words but his heart stuttered and jumped and his blood rushed in his ears, anxiety swarming his body and pulling all his muscles tight as the prolonged touch didn't disappear. Then finally, finally Riddle let go, and Harry nearly slumped in relief, but made sure to keep himself upright. A fine layer of sweat covered his cheekbones and the space under his eyes but Harry ignored it, instead working on calming himself down.

Harry continued to crush the fangs the way Riddle had shown him. The older boy stepped away and began cutting the pungous onions, clearly informed on Harry's relationship with knives as Harry received a cold look when he dared so much as look at the knife Riddle was holding.

They continued like this in relative silence. Harry was instructed to add the fangs once Riddle deemed them crushed enough, and took care of the stirring, making sure to attentively count his stirs, which he found, surprisingly, easier now there was little else to focus on but Riddle's methodical slicing.

Then the onions were added and the cauldron was put on the fire, and Harry kept stirring.

Harry had a fist full of dried nettles, and was about to add a few carefully, as instructed, when Riddle reached around Harry for something, presumably the Flobberworm mucus, and his skin brushed the back of Harry's neck.

Harry  _ flinched _ , curling in on himself and dropping the dried nettles, his hand retracting towards himself to shield his neck. Before he could do so, however, the cauldron exploded.

Riddle cursed and threw up shields, but Harry's hand was still over the cauldron and by the time the spray cleared, his hand was full of small, thin cuts that bled heavily. The spray of potion splattered on the shields and with a wave of Riddle's wand, were banished.

At once Riddle seized Harry's hand and inspected it, casting a quick scourgify to rid it of any lingering potion. Harry wanted to crawl out of his skin, but the mind-numbing pain quickly drove out any lingering anxiety from the touch on his wrist.

"That's not good," Riddle said simply, and cast a few spells that made his hand tingle but did very little to close the wounds as far as Harry could see under the blood that once again covered his hands.

Riddle looked annoyed and cast another cleaning spell, clearing the blood once more, but it came back with a renewed vigor. Harry whimpered as the pain flared, and Riddle's eyes snapped to him before going back to his hand.

"I'm bringing you to the Infirmary," Riddle deadpanned, his expression stony. He dropped Harry's hand but didn't let go, and instead started pulling him out of the classroom.

The lessons were still in full swing, only ten, fifteen minutes having passed since the start of lessons. The hallways, as a result, were quiet; most of the others were in the common rooms, enjoying their free period, and others were in the Library, finishing homework and catching up on studies. Harry's footsteps echoed among the damn walls as he struggled to keep up with Riddle's almost punishing pace, stumbling over his too long robes. The pain in his hand flared and waned, and hot tears rolled silently down Harry's face. Riddle, on the other hand, was quiet. Everything about him screamed vigilance and elegance; from the way he strode from place to place -even with an emergency on his hands, such as now, Harry thought almost bitterly- to the way his steps were silent, maybe a soft pat, like he was walking on carpet.

Harry hated the way his vision hyper focused on his surroundings, making his head pound and the pain worsen in his hand with every brush of air against it.

Finally, they arrived at the large sterile doors, and Harry felt like he was going to faint, his head swimming. The only thing he thought was grounding him was the godawful sensation on his wrist.

Riddle burst in the doors and Healer Kyren looked up from his desk, standing up immediately when he saw Harry. There were a few discussed words before the man rushed over to Harry and immediately started to tend to him.

A quick potion numbed the pain significantly to a dull itch while Healer Kyren got to work with his wand.

"I sure hope you don't get back here too often, as much as I'd love to see you, Harry. For tea, maybe, but not for injuries," the man joked, and Harry looked at him dumbly, putting on a sheepish smile.

"Sorry to trouble you, Sir," he mumbled, aware of Riddle to the side, who was standing with his arms crossed, peering intently at Harry while the healer worked.

"This is my job," the man explained with a smile, "so don't be sorry. Just try to not be in mortal peril next time you pay me a visit, alright?" At Harry's stricken expression, he laughed. "No, you're not in imminent danger; this wound is rather superficial, if not for the vague traces of poison and the mild blood loss, but that can be fixed easily. I'm just glad Mr Riddle was able to assess the situation calmly and bring you here immediately."

Healer Kyren smiled at Riddle, who stared at Harry, ignoring the healer, who then looked back at Harry with the same smile, undeterred by Riddle's behaviour.

A few potions and creams later, Harry was being dismissed.

"There, all fixed up. Oh, how nice! Mr Riddle waited for you. It should be about dinner time now. Eating will help aid the potions, so please do eat properly. Mr Riddle, if you would escort Harry to the Great Hall? It's just, if he suffers any fainting spells..."

Riddle nodded, eyes on Harry, who glanced back nervously as he stood up.

He was waved off by Healer Kyren, and then he was alone with Riddle in the empty halls again. Harry flushed at the memory of him crying like a child when his hand got hurt. Said hand throbbed phantomly under the light bandaging.

"Sorry," he apologized to Riddle like an instinct. "For getting hurt and messing up the potion," he clarified for no specific reason.

"It's alright." Riddle's smooth voice echoed slightly along the halls but not really. Harry thought it suited him. Riddle started walking, and Harry followed silently. The older boy didn't send a glance back, his strides still ever silent.

They reached the Great Hall in silence, classes still not out yet.

Riddle walked him to the table -his spot was at practically the opposite end of Riddle's, although he wasn't exactly sure since he tended to avoid looking towards his general direction. Harry sat down on the empty table -at the far end from the Head Table, since he was at the bottom of the social hierarchy in Slytherin. Riddle didn't sit down- instead, he gave Harry a stony nod, who nodded back, and walked off once more.

Harry sat alone at the Slytherin table of the Great Hall, kicking his legs idly -he couldn't reach the floor- and resting his chin in his good hand. Healer Kyren said he's fine to use it, to just give it some rest, but Harry doesn't want to risk it, so he lays the bandaged limb carefully on the table as he waits for the others, and by extension, the food, to arrive.

He went to bed earlier that night, and lay awake for a long time. He felt stupid for being afraid of Riddle -although the older boy's name still spiked fear into his heart, even now- since he'd been nothing but helpful so far, offering to help him with potions and even attempting to heal his hand and removing the potion before he was brought to the hospital wing.

Harry figured it wasn't an act of kindness per se, but Riddle could have left the potion to do more damage, could not have cleaned his hand, could have only thrown up a shield for himself... There were a lot of things he could have done that would have made the situation worse that wouldn't have led back to him. The point was that he didn't; and yet, he seemed like the kind of person to look out for himself before others.

Harry, though, deep in his heart, knew there was a great disconnect between who someone said they were and who they eventually proved to be.

He was not an exception to this rule.

And so he fell asleep, wondering who he would turn out to be, and hoping he didn't change too much. He didn't like change very much- especially now that he was happy, or as happy as he could remember being.

The next morning was disorienting. Harry felt something slightly coarse tug at his hand, and lifted it to find the bandages still there- he'd forgotten to take them off the night before in his musing. Instead he did so right there and then, watching the tiny little criss-crosses of white cover his skin, ending rather abruptly about a third down his forearm, where the shield had stopped the potion.

Healer Kyren said they would be barely visible in a week or two, but now they looked like sharply made incisions, still tinged rose at the edges. In a way, Harry thought, they looked like an artwork; rather abstract, but still beautiful, and quite delicate.

He sat there for a while, admiring his scars in the low light, before another alarm in the distance awoke him from his trance.

He went into the bathroom and freshened himself up, making sure to carefully run water over his arm. As much as the  _ scourgify _ helped keep the wounds clean, Harry couldn't deny that it wasn't good to cast on skin due to its harsh effects- like wiping your skin with a rough cloth, or pouring a bleaching potion on it; sometimes both.

Harry dressed, careful of his hand, and made his way down to the common room. Since it was still early, he looked at the bookshelves that lined the walls of the common room, paging through a few.

"You're always up early," an unmistakable voice said from behind him, and Harry stiffened, hand halting above a book on potions ingredients and their effects.

Harry turned around carefully and greeted Riddle with a nod. "Good morning."

The older boy looked down at him, amused, and repeated the greeting.

They stood in silence for a little while as Harry turned back to the bookshelf and began reading the titles once more, before plucking one out. He opened it and skimmed through some of its contents.

"Would you like to accompany me to breakfast?" asked Riddle, who was now leaning lightly against the bookshelves, a gleam to his eyes Harry couldn't quite decipher. Harry though, instinctively, knew this was not an offer but more of a command and immediately nodded in agreement, putting the book back with nimble fingers.

And so they went, through silent halls once more(Harry assumed that Riddle preferred avoiding others) towards the Great Hall.

"You're very seclusive," Riddle said calmly in the stillness of the upper dungeons. Harry made sure his steps didn't falter.

"What makes you say that?"

Riddle was quiet for a few moments, and Harry listened to his own footsteps.

"Observation."

Harry looked up at Riddle and then back down immediately. He didn't know how to reply to that. Instead, he opted for agreeing.

"You're right, I suppose," he said, absentmindedly observing the paintings that were, not so subtly, listening in on their conversation. If it even was that. "I don't engage much with the other first years. But I don't think I mind being alone very much."

At this, Riddle gave him such an odd, unreadable look that Harry quite literally frowned. It was gone before he could ask, smoothed over into a cool mask as voices reached them from a corridor further on that branched off to the left. Two girls, both Hufflepuffs, were talking animatedly as they rounded the corner, but they both stilled when one saw Riddle and whispered to the other. Then they both giggled and hurried along, uncaring of whether Riddle was capable of murdering them violently, which he probably very much was.

"They probably wouldn't notice if there were a  _ war _ going on," Harry mused with a mild sort of contempt. He looked up, shocked, when Riddle barked a sharp laugh.

"Oh, but there is."

"There is?"

"Yes.  _ Two _ , in fact," Riddle said, his eyes sparking almost dangerously. "Although magicals like to pretend  _ neither _ affects them."

Harry fell silent, dumbstruck. It would explain why he'd not heard about the wars, if everyone was pretending nothing was happening.

For some reason, Harry felt almost despairing as they entered the Great Hall, and inexplicably tired, as if he was already exhausted with the idea of war. Harry thought how that didn't make any sense, since he'd never been in a war before, let alone...  _ two _ .


	4. 4

Harry felt calmer after that interaction with Riddle, less tense. It was a welcome change from the shaky, apprehensive fear; although that still lingered, just not in the forefront.

The idea of a war frightened him, and so the first opportunity he got, he went to the library and kindly asked the librarian if they had the newspaper. He got a stern nod, a sterner look, and a lean, spindly finger pointing to a neat stack in the corner. Harry thanked her quietly and set to work. There were three papers the school supplied; Witches' Weekly, which Harry made a mental note of ignoring fully after seeing a 'Save Three Galleons on Your Next Interactive Romance Novel!' sticker on the front; The Daily Prophet, which Harry wasn't sure whether to take too seriously given it advertised three quarters of its contents to be sports; and The Wizarding World News, which mentioned someone called Grindelwald (German, probably) had struck again, this time the Americas.

It looked serious, considering it was on the front page and had rather dramatic wording, but it also seemed inconsequential since it'd been pushed down to the side, into a smaller column, in favour of an article about the minister's latest speech. There was no mention of another war anywhere else, no matter how much he looked. Maybe it was non magical? Harry wasn't sure, nor was he sure if he wanted to know.

He left the library slightly worried, not forgetting to thank the librarian again before he left. He had Defense Against the Dark Arts next, which had been mostly theory so far but the professor had mentioned they'd start duelling that lesson. Harry was somewhat excited but also apprehensive, and the apprehensiveness increased the closer the lesson got. When he was in front of it, there was a sort of… _dread._ Harry didn't know where it was coming from, he just knew that all of a sudden, he didn't want to duel anyone any more, not that he'd really wanted to duel anyone in specific in the first place.

When the class was welcomed inside, he had a contemplative frown set in his brows. The professor gave him an inquisitive look, but he ignored her casually, forcing himself not to shrug. It was undignified, according to the etiquette book. He didn't have an answer for her, anyways. Instead, he focused on looking for a partner, choosing the girl from Cyneley's left while Cyneley himself partnered with the girl from his right.

They practiced stances and hand positions, along with casual dodging and other avoidance tactics, since they weren't advanced enough to cast shield or disarming spells.

About halfway through the lesson, a stray jinx bounded at Harry in his peripheral, looking awfully red, and before he could think, Harry had cried out _'protego!_ ' and cast a shield so powerful the curse shot off it four times faster than it had reached it.

When the smoke cleared after it had cracked stone where it hit the wall, Harry found himself curled up in the fetal position, the shield still bright and pulsing.

Harry heard the professor gasp, and when he dared to glance up at her, paling at the horrified look in her eyes. She mouthed something, her hands reaching up to clasp over her mouth weakly.

"I'm going to get Healer Kyren," she announced, eyes fixed on Harry, who found himself progressively able to breathe less and his body began twitching with adrenaline, crimson burned into his vision although he wasn't sure why, and that just terrified him more. Something warm and wet dripped down his cheeks and it took him a moment to realise they were tears.

Harry thought he was going to die as green lit up in his narrowing vision. A few seconds of silence passed; ear-splitting, deafening silence, and then arms were around him, lifting him up and carrying him into the green and Harry was sure he was going to die, so he struggled a bit and then gave up.

He was put down, eventually, onto something rather soft and sterile and white.

It took a few moments, or hours, for Harry to calm down and realise he was not dead. In fact, he was in the Infirmary, with Healer Kyren standing over him, a worried expression on his face.

"How long have I been out?" Harry mumbled, pressing his palm to his head and trying to sit up, feeling rather numb with the edge of magical exhaustion creeping up on his muscles- a hauntingly familiar sensation, although Harry couldn't place the familiarity.

"Almost an hour," Healer Kyren said, smoothing his face into something gentle. He waved his wand lightly and a slight warming charm settled over the bed, stopping the light shivering Harry hadn't noticed was travelling through his core.

He nodded mutely, leaning back against the pillow once more, muscles aching with tension released. His eyes hooded, and he felt just… tired, now.

"I worry about you, child," Healer Kyren said, beginning to casually organise potions on a metal trolley, surveying the labels coolly before placing them in a certain order; taking his time. "It's practically unheard of for someone so young as you to master a protego, especially one of such power."

A potion bottle clicked against another as it was put down, and Healer Kyren paused. He turned to Harry and clasped his hands before his apron. A smile beamed down at Harry, but it was only a fraction of the sincere smiles the man could give.

"It's quite hard to explain, but I think you should refrain from partaking in duelling lessons, simply to avoid episodes like this," Healer Kyren explained softly, looking absently at the floor tiles. "It's not optimal, but I'd rather have you sit out and avoid the situation, because retraumatization has worse effects than avoidance."

Harry just nodded, understanding the point but not the specifics. Then something occurred to him from that day at King's Cross.

"Healer Kyren," he asked slowly, and the healer looked at him expectantly. "What's a cruciatus?"

The man paled.

"I'm sorry, what-"

"I- I remember thinking," Harry rushed before Healer Kyren could go further, "at the station, when the Hufflepuff prefect found me, it hurt a lot and I remember thinking it was almost as bad as a cruciatus, but I don't know what-"

"It's… it's a very, _very,_ bad curse, Harry," Healer Kyren interrupted, looking very tired all of a sudden. "One of the three Unforgivables. Well, I suppose if it wasn't, you would have found out what it is already, and wouldn't be here to ask me." He gave a shaky smile and sat down on the foot end of Harry's bed. "It's a curse with one function in mind- just that function, only that. And that would be to torture."

Harry frowned at once.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," Healer Kyren said lightly after casting a glance at his expression. "It's worse, because we -well, _I_ \- found lingering traces of untreated post-cruciatus nerve damage and shock on your body when I did the diagnostic. And from a few years back, at that. It wasn't a pretty sight to see. I suppose you're used to it now, but I've found that your left arm permanently prickles due to frayed nerve ends in your forearm. It's very hard to heal, given how old it is, and I'm not sure if Armando would allow me, since we're rather short on funding lately, so I had to leave it."

Now that Harry thought about it -he flexed his fingers a few times to test- he could feel the distinctive prickle underneath his skin that he'd usually associate with a dead leg or so. It felt odd, like an itch he couldn't scratch. He frowned.

Healer Kyren looked at him, a worried frown on his face.

"Well, I can say one thing, Harry," he said, "whatever your guardians did to you -and by Merlin I hope no one _ever_ does something like that again, it's surely made you a stronger, better person for it." He shifted a little and explained.

"If I were a victim of something you've been through, or even a fraction of that-" he eyed the scar running down Harry's forearm, "-I would have gone insane, paranoid. The fact that you're as stable as you are now, give or take a few episodes, is a true testament to your mental strength. I wouldn't be surprised if your natural Occlumency is incredibly good."

Harry looked away, down at his hands, and took a few moments to process the man's words.

"Thank you," he settled on in the end, looking up again and meeting the healer's eyes.

He was dismissed a bit later, setting off to lunch in the Great Hall. When he entered, the weight of an unmistakable gaze immediately settled on his shoulders. Harry rubbed at his left forearm subconsciously, running his fingers over the jagged scar set in his flesh.

Harry resolved not to land in the infirmary again for the next two weeks, at least. Of course, last time wasn't really his fault, but- he stopped himself, also stopping walking on his way to Potions. No, he decided, even if he couldn't help it -and he would, at any cost- he wouldn't land himself in the infirmary. Trips to Healer Kyren's wing cost him too much time, and if there was one thing he knew very well, it was that time was precious, and useless when wasted. So he set himself a promise and started walking once more.

"Hey, Owens," a boy said, walking over from across the common room when Harry entered.

"Yes?" he replied.

"What's happening with you and Riddle? I heard you were… seen together a lot. In the library, and such," the boy started, kind of hesitantly. "My name's Black, by the way. Alphard. Black."

He cringed, muttering something about 'Burga' that Harry didn't catch.

"I would introduce myself, but you already said my name, so I assume you know what I'm called," Harry replied with a smile.

"Yes. Harry Owens, correct? Is it short for something? Harry, I mean."

"I don't know," Harry said. "Hadrian, maybe. Or Harold."

"Well, would you mind terribly if I introduced you as Hadrian, then, if you ever needed to be introduced? It sounds more formal, and 'Burga always tells me I should… well. What do you think?" Black looked uncertain.

"Whatever you want, really." Harry smiled. "I like Hadrian, it sounds nice."

"Oh, good. Now, uh, do you mind clarifying the situation with Riddle? I… from 'Burga I heard that Riddle doesn't, you know. Talk with the younger years much."

"Oh." Harry fell silent, somewhat surprised. "Well, nothing much, really. He's helping me with potions after Professor Slughorn asked. We don't… talk…" He trailed off.

But, they did, didn't they? That thing about the war the other day wasn't exactly potions work, and with how intent Riddle had been… he didn't imagine he talked to many about it.

"Oh. Alright," Black cut his thoughts off, brow furrowed contemplatively. "Well, I'll see you around, then, Owens."

"See you," Harry replied absentmindedly, taking little notice of the odd look the boy gave him.

He'd looked around a bit in the library and, true to Healer Kyren's word, couldn't find a thing on the cruciatus curse. He considered asking the librarian, but given the subject, he wasn't sure she would wish to inform him where he could find information on a torture curse. He did find a mention of the Unforgivables, and what their consequence was. He wasn't sure what Azkaban was, or the Dementor's Kiss, but he didn't imagine them to be very pleasant, given the nature of the crime.

"Lifetime in Azkaban…" Harry mused. Maybe it was a prison for wizards. Dark, cold, isolated; the extreme of what he thought a prison to be, just like how Diagon Alley was the extreme of a rather quaint, bustling shopping district.

"I thought I'd find you here," that silky voice said behind him. Harry abruptly turned round to face him.

"Riddle."

"Good afternoon, Owens. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"It has," Harry agreed, closing the book and turning to Riddle fully. "Do you need something?"

"No," Riddle replied simply. "I was looking for a book."

Harry tipped his head in acknowledgment and turned back to his book, slipping it back into place on the shelves.

Riddle stayed, though, so Harry turned back to him after running his finger over some spines of the books next to the one he'd just put back.

"Forgive me for asking now," began Riddle, a look in his eyes that made Harry nervous, "but I thought I shouldn't mention it in our lessons, since potions take a lot of concentration to perfect. But I heard you'd landed in the hospital again a few weeks ago. Did you get injured?"

The intensity in his eyes scared Harry more than it should have.

"No. We were practicing ducking and dodging in Defense. Something came at me in the corner of my eye and I sent myself into a panic."

"A panic bad enough to land you in the hospital wing."

Harry struggled for the words. Then he sighed, and gave up. "I don't know. Trauma, probably. A traumatic episode, or… or _something_."

"I see."

There was an almost understanding look in those dark eyes. Harry felt small- a cornered mouse. He looked away, to the side, at an ornate book. When he looked back, Riddle was gone from the aisle. Harry didn't dare check if the other boy was still in the library. The back of his head pricked with relief from a sensation he hadn't noticed before.

A day later a Gryffindor landed himself in the Infirmary after falling down several flights of stairs. It was the same one Harry had seen casting the red jinx in Defense.

Harry thought it unfortunate.

People looked at him weirdly for a little bit, and Harry wondered why until he caught a rumour that _he'd_ done it, since the other boy had announced he was going to find Harry and apologise. He quickly shot that down, pointing out that he was in the library when it happened, and told them to ask the librarian when they looked doubtful. They quickly quieted after that.

The winter holidays were soon approaching, and Harry was relieved to find he could stay at Hogwarts for the entirety of them when the headmaster announced anyone staying over the holidays must report this to their Head of House so they knew how many they had to provide for given meals and such.

Harry approached Slughorn as soon as an opportunity arose, getting it over with quickly, feeling annoyed when he got pitying looks a day or two later. He was sure someone had seen him and told the entire school, despite it being obvious, with his rather public introduction at the start of the year.

The weeks went quickly. One day he was still surrounded by pupils, bubbly and excited to return to their parents, casting sad looks at Harry when they saw him in the corridors and hushing their excited friends when he was near, then the next, it was silent.

His footsteps echoed in the empty hallways, only the whispers of ghosts reaching his ears, the dripping of water from a leaking tap, 

Everyone had gone home the day before, leaving Harry alone in the large castle. Snow had fallen that night, coaxing the outside world into a picture of pure white. The sky was a pale blue that morning as Harry went down for breakfast, not really expecting anyone to be there. There was a single table in the middle of the hall instead of the usual four, covered with a lesser amount of food than usual. Harry's heart jumped when he saw Tom Riddle sitting at the table, surrounded by nothing but food and empty seats. There was little on his plate, and a book rested on the table before him.

Harry sat down close to Riddle, but not next to him, settling across to him instead.

"Good morning," he greeted. Riddle returned the greeting.

Harry felt confused. With the way the boy acted, one would have thought him raised a pureblood, and Merlin knew the purebloods always returned their children home for the Yuletide rituals. In fact, Harry mourned, he would have liked to try those rituals himself, as, although they were considered Dark, many were beneficial to personal health, relationships, and bonds to Lady Magic and one's magical core.

"Riddle?" Harry asked, curiously.

"Yes, Owens?" Riddle answered coolly.

"Why are you here, at Hogwarts?"

"Because I don't like to return to my… _residence_ outside of Hogwarts." 

"I see," Harry said, frowning. He felt a pang of Deja-vu and shrugged. "I don't think I would return to mine either were my parents still alive, or around I suppose- from what Healer Kyren told me, they seemed pretty awful."

Riddle hummed absently. Harry pushed some food around on his plate, picking at it idly. He took a few bites of food before pushing his food away, standing up. He was suddenly hyper aware of a gaze on him, but it wasn't Riddle's. Harry followed the feeling to a pair of periwinkle blue eyes, immediately on edge. The eyes belonged to Professor Dumbledore, his transfiguration teacher and the deputy headmaster. Harry frowned again, unsure why the man was staring at him with almost… contempt. He turned away and walked out, robes billowing behind him in the breeze from the open door.

The courtyard was quiet when Harry entered it, shuddering lightly in his winter cloak, fastening it tightly with the plain silver buttons. His footsteps tarnished the white snow with the deep black of the earth beneath, but he felt it was beautiful in its own way and didn't feel guilty leaving his mark.

The stone bench was cold, a welcome distraction from the cozy warmth of the castle. Harry sat idly, watching the now white sky, apricity having left hours ago to make way for a heaven the same colour as the ground it met.

He sat there a while before he was joined by Riddle, who sat next to him this time. Harry gave a little sigh in acknowledgment and Riddle looked vaguely amused, although Harry couldn't quite tell if that was truly what is was.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Harry asked, looking at the snow.

"Beautiful," Riddle agreed, but Harry felt they weren't talking about the same thing. He let it drop.

"My first winter," Harry mused, hooding his eyes against the bright white. He could see the shadows of his eyelashes and smiled, trying to make a game out of it but failing to do much. "It's quiet," he confessed. "I don't think I'm very used to that. Even in the library, there's, you know, the rustling of paper. And the fire."

"You do visit the library a lot, don't you?" Riddle hummed.

"Depends on what you think 'a lot' is," Harry shrugged.

Riddle chuckled, seeming more relaxed. "I'm beginning to think the Hat should've put you in Ravenclaw."

Harry shrugged again. "It said I wasn't one for smarts. I'll take its word on that."

"Nothing's set in stone, though," Riddle began calmly, eyes intense, flickering with reflected light from the snow. "You can always change; nor does what people say define who you are."

Harry took a moment to mull on his words, digesting them, turning them over in his head.

"So I'm not a freak?" He asked, desperate for reassurance against the thing he'd been pondering since his memory began. Then he blanched, realising what he'd said.

Riddle tensed.

" _What_?" he demanded in a hiss, eyes flashing as he rose threateningly.

Harry cast his eyes downward and tilted away from Riddle reflexively, his hands twitching upwards to shield himself.

Riddle's jaw set when Harry's eyes flicked over to him again, and he breathed in a way very much controlled, before he turned and stormed out of the courtyard, robes billowing behind him in the whipping winter air.

Harry felt cold all of a sudden, and pulled into himself, curling into a small ball, pulling his coat tighter across his body.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to set  
> a trend.  
> to set  
> a trend.

Riddle didn't talk to him much after that. He didn't have help with potions in the holidays, so Harry didn't see any excuse to go and talk to the boy while he still looked angry. And he did; downright furious on the better days, with storms brewing as tightly in those dark eyes as the blizzards beyond Hogwarts' walls.

Harry understood he had done something wrong, he just had no idea what, and worse, he had no real way to obtain that knowledge. He wanted to apologize or something similar, but how could he whenever that hateful stare turned towards him? The fear returned tenfold when it did, sending cold shivers down his spine that made his hands shake and his forehead bead with cold sweat.

Harry wasted his time at the library, reading stories and informational texts on potions and their ingredients. Sometimes he picked up some historical works: books on Dark wizards and their wicked deeds, inventions of famous Light wizards, bloody battles between magical creatures and wizardkind. Still, when he felt lonely in the large, empty library, he picked up the Tales of Beedle the Bard and paged to the Tale of the Three Brothers, and read it until he knew every detail.

Nights were cold down in the dungeons; a deep-reaching frigidness that lingered in the corners of his room, no matter how high he requested the fire be stoked. So Harry just shivered under his thick duvet, curling up into a tight little ball. It gave him a distinct feeling of both anxiety and safety.

Sometimes he dreamed of hiding in a small dark space. Outside of the door, a large shadow shouted nonsensical things, but while they scared him for when he would have to inevitably come out, he also felt inexplicably safe; the shadow was too large to reach into his little space.

Harry had found a book on simple runes and begun to study it just to have something to do. It wasn't easy by any means, but it was something that kept him occupied for longer than a moment. He practiced the runes -some combinations for light protection had been given to copy- on a thin leather strip that was likely the remains of a broken wristband. When he looked at the clock in the library, snapping into a more appropriate state of awareness at the sight of the time - _ late late late _ , Harry thought, rather sadly, that this was very Ravenclaw-ish of him. Then he was reminded, even more depressingly, of what had occurred between him and Riddle, before a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"My dear boy," a voice called from behind him, and Harry tensed, "do you mind if we had a quick word?"

Harry turned around carefully, avoiding the man's eyes by instinct. "Professor," he greeted. "Not at all."

Dumbledore smiled, and started walking away. "I think it'd be beneficial if we talk in my office, simply for privacy reasons."

Harry nodded and followed silently.

When they were stood inside his office, the door closed, Dumbledore beckoned him to sit down, which he did, immediately looking around the room. It was a rather normal looking room for wizarding standards; a few odd knick-knacks here and there; a piece of parchment, a ball of clear glass, a caged sleeping animal or two, and a perch with a phoenix.

"What did you wish to talk to me about, sir?" Harry asked.

"I've seen you and Tom Riddle talking a few times around Hogwarts, and I just felt I needed to warn you," Dumbledore began.

"For what, sir? All the times that I've spoken to him he's been nothing but polite, often helpful too. He kindly offered to help me with my potions work after Professor Slughorn asked his club."

"I see. Well, my boy-" Harry bristled at the term, "-there's been talk of Tom setting up a club of sorts, and that he has been offering positions in this club to Slytherins who he has deemed worthy." Dumbledore looked terribly worried, but Harry didn't understand why.

"And?" Harry asked.

"Well, I've reason to believe he's starting a club, of sorts.”

“A club?” Harry echoed, incredulously.

“Yes, my boy, a club.” Dumbledore looked rather grave at the confession. “He’s been meeting with his peers rather often lately, after hours.”

Harry raised his eyebrows minutely -enough to show his incredulous reaction, but subtly, to be passed off as intrigue. “I see,” he replied rather lamely.

“Has he, possibly, approached you about any of these things?” Dumbledore enquired.

“Why would he? I’m a first year, aren’t I? He has no need for me in his club, as you call it.” Harry was tempted to mention the falling out between himself and Riddle, but he held himself back, suspicious of the man’s motivation and reluctant to give him a foothold into Harry’s private life.

His reasoning fell on deaf ears, and Dumbledore looked doubtful.

“Would you do something for me, my boy?” he asked instead. “If Tom does approach you about these things that I’ve mentioned, would you come to me?”

Harry sat back, impassive. It appeared the old man was making sense to himself, but he was decidedly  _ not  _ to Harry. Of course, it wouldn’t do to be rude, so he didn’t voice this opinion.

“Of course, Professor,” he lied instead, curving his mouth into a pleasant smile. Whatever he’d seen in Riddle, Dumbledore seemed so distracted by that he didn’t see straight through Harry’s lie. “Although I wonder what others might think when you call a student by their first name with no relation to them at all.” Harry showed his teeth, still smiling.

Dumbledore looked confused, then upset. “Mr Owens, you know I engage in no such acts.”

“I’m not saying you do,” Harry told him earnestly, blinking innocently, “I’m just asking what people might think, seeing as all the other professors refer to their students by their family name.”

He stood. “Well, I’m afraid I must go, Professor; I have to finish my studying, you see: my potions grade won’t raise itself.” He flashed another smile at the man, already pushing most of the exchange out of his mind. “Good afternoon.”

He made to leave, and was almost at the door when he felt a subtle touch of magic, tasting like the sweetness of a lemon drop, urging him softly, carefully, to keep his false promise. As if on reflex, he turned his head back, and his own magic lashed the offending power away. Dumbledore reared back as if struck. Harry felt a sudden rush of rage fall over him, but before he could behave like a Gryffindor, he was out of the door and speeding back towards the library.

His books were untouched, thank Merlin, and he gathered them up swiftly before heading down to the dorms.

He stored his books in his trunk with care, smoothing out the parchment of his homework, ink long dry, with a calm, nearly fond expression on his face.

He decided to retire to bed early.

The next morning began tense: that afternoon, the other students would return to Hogwarts, the end of the December holidays approaching quickly. The house elves were busy preparing for another semester, dusting everything off with a vigour and making sure everything was in place.

Harry knew this because he had seen the elves in their organized chaos down in the kitchens, which he had found after stumbling into a painting in the corridors that ran below the Great Hall. It was a rather helpful find for if he wanted snacks to take for his studying efforts, and for if he forgot to show up to lunch. He also discovered the faceless helpers of the school were actually rather kind, and they took to him quickly, if shaky at the idea that someone thanked them for what they did.

Harry took a moment to think of whether he had seen Riddle act suspicious, or attend club meetings. Now that he thought about it, the older boy hadn't. He seemed like every other busy student of Hogwarts, if more organized, more informed, cleverer. There'd been no sign of Riddle ever going to a club, or staying out late, or anything of the sort- not that they interacted much, especially not after the incident in the courtyard. Harry wasn't sure what exactly he'd said to anger the other to such an extent- he didn't even  _ remember _ what he'd said anymore.

He felt discouraged by the loss of potential friendship, though- for as intimidating Riddle could be, he was charming, and kind, and rather generous. Harry fully understood the likelihood of him having an ulterior motive by offering the additional lessons among other things, and was, rightfully, still very intimidated by Riddle, but he had a feeling it didn't matter much in the long run.

Harry watched the students trickle in through the front door from the highest part of the stairs, green eyes assessing them carefully. There were a few he recognised, but most were unknown. Harry seeked to change this, promising himself to commit more people to memory.

Alphard Black came up to greet him.

"How was your Yule?" He asked, smiling with something magical in his eyes.

"Well," Harry replied softly, clasping his hands behind his back as he started to walk. "How about you? I can tell you've partaken in a ritual."

"Yes," Black said. "A Dark one, so you mustn't mention it to anyone. 'Burga would lock me up for days if I got my parents in trouble." He looked pained for a moment at the thought. "But, yes. It's the first time I was allowed to partake, since I'm old enough now to stand on my own. Hogwarts, and all."

Harry smiled kindly at Black's answer. "I'm jealous," he said, looking at the walls. "Being trapped here, as pleasant as Hogwarts is, ensures I'll not be able to perform such rituals until…" Harry trailed off, eyes caught by something else.

That something else was Riddle, talking hushedly with a group of friends. Harry swallowed and looked away, frowning a little. When he risked a glance back, one of the older boys was looking at him with a curious look. Riddle's eyes flicked up for a moment, meeting Harry's, but he pressed his lips together and looked away.

"Shame, really," Black replied, ignorant to the looks exchanged, chattering away happily. They arrived at the Great Hall, where the Return Feast would be held shortly, and Black sat down a bit closer to the centre of the table; as close as he could get in the first-year part of it, either way. He beckoned for Harry to sit down, which he did after a moment's hesitation.

To his surprise, Black stuck out his hand once he'd settled, and he blinked.

"I like you," Black said, "Let's be friends."

Harry blinked a bit more and then accepted the hand, shaking it once.

"Alright," he agreed.

Black smiled and tilted his head, black hair glimmering in the light of the Great Hall. "Here, I'll introduce you to the others." He nodded to Cyneley. "That's Richard Cyneley. Cyneley, this is Hadrian Owens," he said importantly, and Cyneley smiled and waved a bit, eyes sparkling.

"I see your name has changed," he said, voice betraying mirth.

"It appears so," Harry shrugged. Black eyed them, then huffed lightly and continued, ignoring that the two had clearly met before.

"The girl glued to him is Cassandra Bletchley, and the girl seated to his right is Asteria Donnesse. You might have seen them around before, they're practically inseparable."

Donnesse nodded neatly at him, and Harry smiled, silently thanking her for the book. Black introduced a few others and shakily pointed out his sister on the other side of the centre of the table. Harry had trouble keeping his eyes off Riddle, an unpleasant pressure building in his chest at the sight of the other boy ignoring him completely.

"That's Walburga Black, my sister. She's in her fifth year, and she'll be getting married to Orion Black, our second cousin, when he graduates. Orion's sitting there," he said, gesturing at where the black-haired boy sat. Orion Black smirked at something someone else said, a smooth tilt to his mouth that had Harry's breath catch at the feeling of familiarity it gave him.

Harry finished his breakfast along with the others and made his way to his class with some of the people Black had introduced to him. He had potions first thing, which just made him miserable at the thought of his lessons with Riddle. He still had no idea what it was that he’d said, he couldn’t remember it very well either way. He’d gone into a panicky stupor after Riddle had said the things he had, not that Harry could remember that either, but it had felt soothing to hear? Harry didn’t know. They were making a rudimentary healing salve. Harry partnered with a Slytherin girl and went to work, using the skills Riddle had taught him to cut the ingredients better, and he paid extra care to how many times they stirred clockwise and counter-clockwise, and at what speed.

Harry felt extremely grateful to the older boy when the end result looked almost exactly like how it should, and smiled bashfully when the Slytherin girl looked at their work with surprise in her eyes, clearly not having expected to do so well. Slughorn came by to check on them, and smiled jollily, making to clap Harry on the back but he flinched away slightly, forcing the man to change his action into a clap of his hands at the last moment.

“I see the lessons have paid off,” Slughorn said, looking boastful. Harry cringed internally at the distant silhouette of a large man with a red face looking awfully proud slipping across his memory, but put on a smile instead, carefully schooling his features.

“They are helping very much, thank you, Professor,” he told the man, coating his words in false reverence.

“Good! I knew Mr Riddle would be a good choice to help you out. If you wouldn’t mind, we have another meeting coming Friday, so please be there. I’ve been told Mr Black doesn’t have quidditch then.” Harry was confused for a moment before he remembered that Orion Black was in the Slug Club. He couldn’t stop himself smiling at the idea that Black would try to get quidditch arranged precisely when the Club was held simply to avoid the unpleasantry that was Professor Slughorn. It seemed oddly familiar to him, but then again, most things about the Black heir(as Alphard Black had told him) did.

Harry smiled and nodded, and looked placatingly at the whale of a man until Slughorn was done blabbering and moved on.

The Slytherin girl leaned over and hissed, “You’re in the Slug Club? You’re so lucky. What did you do to get in?” Her eyes betrayed her envy.

Harry tilted his head to abstain from shrugging. “I’m not sure,” he confessed. “When I got my wand Mr Ollivander said it seemed like I was powerful. Slughorn became awfully friendly after that.”

The girl harrumphed and leaned back. “I see.”

“Sorry,” Harry said. “Seems like there’s little to attract the man.”

She ignored him and began packing up when the bell rang. Harry followed her example. 

For charms, Professor Merrythought had him scanning upper-year books once more and Harry tried some more spells. He was most proficient in flare spells, able to do mostly the primary colours wordlessly, which made the professor look at him with something akin to worry, but Harry smiled placatingly and she smiled back, eyebrows knitted together faintly.

History of magic was uneventful; Binns was unengaging, as usual, but Harry took the time to do his charms homework in the lessons, pretending to take notes. He was sure Riddle… Harry caught himself. Why was he thinking so much about him? He shook his head and continued writing. Still, he was sure that if he did, Riddle was the only person to pay attention to this lesson and take notes. Harry sighed at himself, exasperated, earning a scalding look from the Professor which he warded off with a beatific smile.

The weeks trudged on with periods where Riddle either ignored him or looked at him intently for long moments, until one day, the cycle broke.

“Owens,” his smooth voice called from across the common room. Harry turned around, hope and relief swelling in his chest. Riddle was looking at him, an intense look in his eyes, which were glued to Harry and Harry alone. Said person tensed, caught in a state of half-relaxation, glad that the other boy was talking to him again yet scared of what he had to say. “I believe I’ve neglected your additional lessons in potions for too long. Thursday, as usual?”

Harry beamed up at Riddle. “Yes,” he confirms, “that’d be wonderful.”

Later, in his room, Harry watched the moonlight stream through the window which opened up to the Black Lake. It came from high above, and turned the water a serene dark turquoise, dotted by floating clusters of algae. In the distance, dark appendages waved from the depths, and Harry was unsure whether it was the Giant Squid or the seagrass that rose from the bottom of the lake. He pressed a hand to the window and let the cold envelop his hand and travel up his forearm, relishing in the feeling.

\---

Tom felt restless after the encounter in the snowy courtyard. He’d seen something so unbearably familiar his mask snapped cleanly in two.

‘ _ So I’m not a freak? _ ’

That whisper, tinged with hopeful desperation, like an arrow headed straight for the memories of his terrible youth, and those unwanted feelings. No, he was better than that. He had learned. He was not a freak, nor a demon, nor a devil’s child. He was  _ special _ .

But Owens didn’t know that, yet. He had the same fears, but he had not learned. It took far too many weeks for Tom to make his decision, trapped between the fear of being understood and the need to be understood. To share these thoughts, these opinions. He spent weeks simply thinking, pondering, watching the small boy with his unnatural eyes, always wide, as if he were a child in a sweetshop, taking in the sights and smells, the colour of it all, the atmosphere.

It was too much, at times. When the boy smiled, Tom could not tear his eyes away, no matter how much he tried. He locked himself away, instead. For meals, he would not come to the Great Hall, but instead retreat to the Restricted Section of the library, where those green eyes could not find him, could not lure him. He would wander the forest, bask in the sensation of all unknown things running away as fast as their pitiful legs or wings could carry them, for they were Dark in Dumbledore’s eyes, but they were  _ nothing  _ compared to him.

Often he found himself thinking back to those emerald eyes, forever wide, forever seeing, forever seducing, that mouth, parted in a silent gasp.

It was innocent, and Tom, a cruel part of him, wished to destroy it, to devour it. He knew himself enough that he knew he would, in time. He always did. The cruel part was the whole.

But then, one evening, when in the dim light of the common room Owens’ eyes caught the moonlight from the windows to display a colour like the Avada Kedavra, and Tom could no longer resist. He had made his choice.

“Owens,” he said, and the name fell off his tongue like honey off a silver spoon, but not quite right.  _ Harry _ . Of course, he wouldn't dare. They were not close, after all.  _ But how he craved, oh how he craved, he wished to devour, to consume, to make his and his alone- _ “I believe,” he continued, simply to interrupt the treacherous thoughts creeping through his mind, “I’ve neglected your additional lessons in potions for too long.”

The hope, the hope, the sheer relief in his eyes, oh, the agony of his innocence.

“Thursday, as usual?”

**Author's Note:**

> join me in my court, dearest.
> 
> https://discord.gg/k2zQnuV
> 
> alternatively, ask questions or something on my tumblr, while pining for the next chapter.
> 
> https://its-evan-ffs.tumblr.com/


End file.
